Struggle: The Path to Power

There was neither strength nor sense in speaking further — Misha switched off his hearing and moved on. He kept shouting something, but it didn't matter: he'd had enough. Somewhere in the middle there was a pinch and an ache. It was the pain of resentment; it lodged somewhere in my stomach and pressed deep down. It's unclear where that depth is, and where it's allowed to press, but it's getting stronger and stronger, and it's not going to go away.

"Why did I talk to that man again. It's the same thing every time. And each time it gets harder. We say, 'We're dreamers.' We dream? "Maximalism." This stupid psychoanalytics; they invented words to explain unknown things and unknown why, and now they use it… We're trying our best, and they wipe their feet on us. If only they had found a place where it was still clean, they would have dirty the whole place… Doesn't someone like him have no one who died in the war, doesn't he want to continue and finish what whole generations laid down their heads for? Does he like to confuse others instead of doing what life obliges him to do? That's what we're all doing here — learning. To love, to fight, to overcome… well, we have to fight, so what if we can't cope? We have to cope. We must win!" — this was going through his brain in waves, and despite all his convictions, the pain did not subside.

Grisha, one of his subordinates, sat on a bench near his porch and ate bread. It was stale and withered, but still real bread.

Seeing the commander, he jumped up and saluted in a military manner over his cap:

"Greetings, Comrade Captain."

"Sit down already, what's up," Misha didn't like all these honors, even though he understood perfectly well how important all these formalities were. But he especially hated formation training. When it came to the elementary techniques of formation step, he had no questions about the expediency of practicing them, but he had once read that the ancients gave it a certain delicate importance: they created special units that dealt only with this, organized special performances. What kind of nonsense is that? It's an army. Let them learn to shoot and hide. And to lie still with their eyes wide open. It will save their lives… They won't defeat the enemy with their antics with prehistoric rifles.

"Grish, tell me, what are we doing here?" — Misha asked, sitting down next to him on the steps.

Thoth apparently thought he was being tested for ideological suitability and replied along the lines of, "We are fighting for freedom, our cultural heritage, and we…"

— Give up the propaganda. We are Unit 14, not the KPM (Makah Propaganda Committee; its task was to agitate the people working for the chumas, including calling for rebellion). You tell me what you think."

"Я?… Sorry, I don't know, Comrade Captain. — During this answer Misha made such a face that one could think he was talking to a person who was completely distant from everything that was going on. — Honestly, I ran away from the factory, because I was afraid that next time I could not stand it, when the plagues begin to throw up the volume of smelting, and scream. We rarely met the norm, after all. I wouldn't have been able to withstand a couple more blows".

It was dangerous for someone like him to continue his revelations — almost all his gestures showed that he was ashamed of something he wanted to tell, but couldn't. Misha interrupted because it wasn't the first time he'd seen it. He knew that this was what his subordinate wanted to reveal, and that it would be better if he did it without coercion.

The rebel wandered back through the camp, replaying what Ranierov had told him in his head as if it would never come out and be forgotten.

Natalya Koshkina, a senior lieutenant from the sanitation department, ran into him. She was only twenty-five years old, but she was a good judge of character. One glance was enough for her to realize that help was needed: "Mish, why are you so glum?"

When she said such phrases, adding her marvelous facial expression, the mood lifted by itself. Not everyone in the group liked her, but she held no grudges and always tried to be supportive when she needed it. It seemed alien to her not to help because of an unfulfilled relationship. "Even if there were no war now," she said to those who didn't quite understand her.

— we wouldn't survive without each other. We're here to help others."

Though Misha didn't like her position entirely — "Really, how can you help, for example, Ranierov?". He respected her and could never even afford to argue with her.

— It's nothing, it's nothing.

— You didn't have lunch, did you?

— No, I didn't have lunch.

— Then I, uh.

— No, no, Natasha, don't. You don't have anything to eat.

— Do I have to talk you into it? — she asked sincerely and a little resentfully.

— Natash, I really don't want to — Misha hasn't eaten anything in almost 24 hours, but "taking" food from anyone, much less her, would be a crime.

— Stop it. I know you haven't eaten anything.

— Oh, come on. It's no big deal.

— You haven't eaten, and I'm missing a whole pot of soup. Let's go!

— Uh, I, uh.

After that she was tired of arguing and persuading this altruist, and she took him by the hand and dragged him to her house.

The Maquis changed their location at least once a week, and it was rare for anyone to set up a place to live while in any neighborhood. This was in no way true of Koshkina.

Entering her house Misha didn't understand what was going on: everything was so wellgroomed and cozy. And the most interesting thing was that it was impossible to say why. Maybe because of the towel with the image of a tiger hanging on the wall, maybe because of the tablecloth with roses and big, the size of a fist, ladybugs on the table, and maybe just a rag for shoes at the entrance. A lot of these wonderful little things can't be called luxury in any way — it's more like the humanity of the soul, that's all.

Natasha walked to the clay tile in the far corner of the room. Her movements were strikingly appealing to the eye. Her footsteps were soft and yet very confident. It was as if everything around her was coming to life.

Her military uniform didn't spoil her in the least: black full ankle boots, dark tights, visible only at the knees, and then a green skirt and the same tunic. Black hair in a thin braid in the back.

Seeing all the beauty around him, Misha stood only and cleaned his shoes to no end, not taking a step away from the door.

Turning around the hostess smiled, "So what's stuck in there?"

— I'm just

— Just get out of here.

And for good reason: in addition to everything else, the soup turned out to be exorbitantly delicious. Soup with cabbage and potatoes and everything. Just like the real thing. Just like they used to make it.

Natasha sat next to him, waiting for something. Maybe a compliment. Maybe something more. It was as if she didn't show it, but it was obvious she needed it. The warmth of the person next to her. That was what she wanted most of all right now.

And it was necessary first of all to add warmth to her heart. And then he noticed that he was not eating from an ordinary plate, not from an aluminum plate like everyone else's, but from a wooden plate painted with red paintings, as if the Old Slavonic traditions had been resurrected from nowhere.

— Natash, I didn't notice something right away… These are such beautiful plates.

Her mouth turned up in a smile, but it was obvious that it wasn't what she was expecting,

"Really? You like it? It's khokhloma."

"It's very pretty. Do you carry that with you?" — Misha realized at the same moment that he had asked a disastrously stupid and inappropriate question: during the Maquis crossings, they were allowed to take only the necessary things, but this was just an instruction — you can, take as much as you want, just don't dare to fall behind; it turned into a reproach.

"No, I found it here," Natasha responded so friendly to the question that the tension eased itself. Now he wouldn't have to feel like a stale censor.

Misha decided to smooth over his intemperance entirely, "It's a shame you don't wear them. They're wonderful plates." As soon as he said it out loud, he realized that he had said something nonsense. And he was so incomprehensible to himself that he blushed.

She seemed to like it. She turned her eyes playfully away, turned her head slightly to the side, and opened her mouth slightly: "Did you notice anything else?" She wanted to add, "The way I look at you," but a woman always expects that she doesn't have to say it herself, that a man should notice it himself.

It didn't get to Misha, "I guess not…"

— Mish, what will you do when the war is over?

The presence of the war had no effect on the relationship between the strong and beautiful halves of humanity: they loved, married, raised children… Natasha was a very beautiful girl, and many people tried to court her, but serious relationships did not work out, because she wanted first of all understanding from a man, and even somehow believed in fate. She looked at everyone and realized that she hadn't found the right one yet. Time did not stand still, at her age many people had already given birth and raised not even their first child, but she was still a girl.

And the whole point was that she didn't know what she wanted at all. On the one hand, she didn't want to be with just anyone, but on the other hand, she didn't know for herself what "not just anyone" meant to her. What should she compare it to? She'd never been with anyone, seriously. She'd slept with a few guys, but she hadn't really gotten any joy out of it, and then what? That was the "next thing" she didn't understand at all. All guys had the same thing in their heads, but there must be one who would understand her. Though at the same time again it should be understood that "all men are bastards"… But this is also stupidity: not all of them are bastards… I mean, well, there should be the one who… who… who… who what? Here this very stupid circle was closed again: what should her ideal guy be like? In order to understand what he should be like, she would have to be closer to him. And how to be closer if she wasn't sure…? She'd been puzzling over all of this for so many years now, as soon as she got her period. And during her period itself, she didn't realize what was happening to her at all. During this period her desires and at the same time her misunderstandings were growing at the same time. She wanted something and wanted it very much, but it was unclear what it was. It was such a strong feeling that sometimes it seemed to her that she did not need anyone at all. But just at the moment when she started to think in this way, her desire would change dramatically again, and she would want to find her only one again. And all this constant throwing to extremes led her to believe that it would never end at all. And if she could put an end to it, that would be half the problem, because when she saw Misha, her head started to think in a completely different way. She liked him, but she didn't know what to do about it. It seemed like she wanted to be with him, but maybe it would only last a couple months and then it would be over. And she was scared of breakups. She was terrified of it. That's why she didn't want to start anything. So she was always walking around, trying to wait for something from him, not realizing what it should be. And at the same time, when she began to think about him, she periodically wanted to see something "bastard" in him, or wanted to accept something unique and favorite.

The whole thing had run through her head hundreds, if not thousands, of times. In the end, she wanted to see him again, to wait for something from him that she didn't know. But she knew for sure that in doing so, he must be crazy about her. She didn't understand what kind of attitude she had towards the person she loved, when he had to be literally "captured", but she just couldn't do it without it. And she understood perfectly well that it was a kind of mockery of him, when she wanted to be with him, and he wanted to be with her, and they both knew it, but she acted as if she didn't quite understand him, as if she didn't understand what was really between them, and he was making a pitchfork that it was the right thing to do. It's almost an Amazonian approach: "I love you, but I'll torture you", and yet again it's unclear why. On the one hand, she wanted to "test" him: if he would tolerate it, then he loved her; on the other hand, she wanted to know how much he should tolerate it, so that it was really considered to be a test, because it always seemed that "it wasn't enough" and "we should see more". But even this was not enough for her thinking, because when she began to think again about what she wanted "as if at all", she again realized even more what she wanted, and then she began to think about Misha again, and that she really loved him. In general, she tried not to use the word "love" in her thoughts, as it seemed to her that it would be a wrong expression of her state, but nevertheless it sometimes slipped in, and exactly when she was thinking about him. And on the one hand she liked it very much that it slipped through, it even made her feel better, but on the other hand… on the other hand… she started to be drawn back to that stupid "other" side… but the further the word "love" sounded more and more often, and she began to realize that one fine moment she would say to herself the answer to the question "With him?" the word "Yes".

The situation with Misha was similar. Lately, he knew what he wanted. He had enough girls, and each of them didn't understand him, didn't want to understand him, and couldn't do it.

It drove him crazy, and that's why all the breakups.

So at the moment his greatest desire was to act more carefully, if only to avoid bringing the matter to a scandal.

Natasha didn't want to be hurt, but he couldn't answer the question: victory was not around the corner, but over an entire ocean.

"Well, I don't know. — I didn't have to make it up here. — I'd go on a bender. Go on vacation… Get married…"

— Is it all connected? Is it just one thing at a time? Or do you have to pick one?

If earlier in the figurative expression Misha stood in the swamp up to his ankles, now up to his shoulders: now, what to answer. He would want to go on a bender after all this. And even now he wouldn't mind such a thing, if only he had something to do.

— Shit, Natasha, I don't know! What makes you think I'll even live?

— I'm just saying. I'm just asking. On a binge, on a binge.

A second of silence crawled through the room like a snail.

— I'm sorry, Natasha, I didn't mean to…. — It's nothing, I was just asking.

I… I'm sorry, Natasha… I'm really sorry. — Misha began to think that it was time to apologize thoroughly, because at least while he was doing it, he would at least postpone the awkwardness, which for the last minute had settled in his throat and began to make all words hoarse, except those that asked for something.

And Natasha noticed it well. Now she could see that she had almost completely finished this guy, and that if things continued in the same way, he would just give up on her — it was too hard for him to play such games. Now it was time to take things to another level.

On the table between them was a plate empty of soup, a good excuse to sneak up on her darling unnoticed. Natasha stood up from the table with the words "I'll put the plate away", walked around to his side and reached out her hand to the plate, stopped, and then slowly moved her lips to his. Generally there's some difference between those actions that one does "just for something" and those that one does because one is "drawn to do them" or maybe "it's bad to wait to do them". Such actions are somehow differently done: and the brain somehow seems not quite in control of them, and the colors change in the eyes, and even the air becomes different. All of this was happening to Natasha now, as her lips moved to his, and it seemed to her that she could feel nothing else but his lips.

Metropolitan

Triangular darkroom. A triangular dark table. A Black Stone pattern on each of the three walls. The surroundings are dark and there is no room to breathe.

There are two dark figures on each side of the table — six in total. Each is wearing a black robe with a hood and a white fang on his back. This is the religious council of the Empire, the Sacred Seim.

Religion of plagues on the sacred book "Zhakh". In its essence it was no different from the philosophy of the concept of humanity of the "Axial Time". But a number of generations of the holy church rewrote it, making changes in its favor and to strengthen the spiritual power. Earlier, even before the appearance of "Zhakh", polytheism was accepted in the plague state, and the church, as an independent organization, did not exist. All rites and rituals were performed by the priests of temples, who were not related to each other.

After the emergence of the Zhakh, the church also appeared: all the temples were united under one umbrella. Since then, the spiritual authority increased its pressure on public life and state affairs many times over. Any significant issue could be solved only with the assistance of the high priest and the Holy Sejm.

Twelve years ago the Holy Sejm approved the decree of the high priest-patriarch SilanZhakh. It dictated the infallible authority of the head of the Church of Plague (Nevrokh, the High Priest), his exclusive rightfulness as heir to the teachings of the Zhakh, and the sole interpreter of the will of the Black Stone.

This meant increased influence over all events, both church and non-church, to destroy witches and sorcerers and to counter heresy. This branch had wide powers in judicial proceedings conducted by the middle priests. After the Silan Jah, the Secular Sejm ceased to be secular, and the active branch of the Inquisition received a new breath of air, gaining the right to investigate heresy and witchcraft, while removing the state apparatus. This was the new principle of the law of the Grand Inquisitor Torquedoch.

Subject to trianame = "note"

Perpetrators of false notions about the holy church

Those guilty of practicing witchcraft and divination

Anyone who has been excommunicated and has not sought reconciliation

The harborers and intercessors of heretics

Those who resisted the decrees of the Inquisition

Lawyers, notaries and jurists who defended heretics

Anyone who refused to take the oath required by the Inquisition

Anyone who has died in open and alleged hereticism

Anyone touched with heresy by word, deed, or composition.

What atrocities they did to scrape out the "truth", some absolutely sophisticated steel hooks and claws, wires, bayonets — about 60 items in all. And since each accused belonged to any of the 6 categories, only things of his category could be applied to him.

Each item or method could only be used for 6 minutes — although this article was often ignored, explaining that something was used incorrectly or not completely. There was even an unspoken competition among the executioners for mastery of the various tools and the ability to make the "guilty" consent with a particular item.

By the way, the whole system was based on consent. The Church did not need to kill someone and thereby make a martyr out of him, even though he was a heretic. They wanted him to live. Of course, first admitting his guilt and repenting, but living. Because this life then was an additional testimony not only to the rightness of the Church, but also to its eternity in the life of the plagues.

Hierarchical system of division of the whole organization of the Church according to the system of 360 degrees — 60 for each priest-metropolitan. Here everyone tried to excel, but as a rule the first and sixth had the worst results. Their field included checking for heresy among the employees of the state apparatus. What was the "inconvenience" of the provisions: the secular authorities, the army and the SChK took care of their employees. Almost no one was caught for "witchcraft" there, and in the case of heresy one could recant without being tortured and in frequent cases, with the mediation of big bosses, not to suffer too much.

The quality of the work of lower ranking priests in high and critical hazard areas was put up for discussion today.

The topic of the meeting was announced by Uginoch, in charge of Sector 180 (the "hard labor" sector, as it was called by all those who stood behind the backs of the priests and saw the price of the Inquisition; under its watch was everyone whose condition was rated below normal, which was more than two-thirds of the entire Empire): "High Priest-Patriarch Nevroch, direct successor to Grand Inquisitor Torquedoch has expressed his concern in the affairs of the Church in the conquered territories. The Church has weakened in those areas, and there is no sign of a possible increase in its importance. High Priest Nevroch requests that action be taken."

Most of the priests believed in the necessity of the Holy Inquisition, and regarded it as the mainstay of the justified supremacy of the Church. Posing the question from the side of the threat of weakening influence pressed on ambition as much as on principle.

The conquered territories themselves were mostly government employees, so in this case the Inquisition of the State Apparatus of Shiroh (60th degree) and Samoh (360th degree) had the most workload.

"I tried to send six inquisitors to the Indian Colony. — Metropolitan Priest Katoch (300th degree) stated. — But the broz only authorized two. How can I destroy heresy when even the local authorities prevent me from doing so?"

"Our phase is running at full capacity, but most of the suspects have connections at the top. They are being taken into protective custody and we can't put them on trial," Shiroh had nothing more to say. He knew he would soon be replaced by another.

There began a verbal attack on everything and everyone in attendance.

We're being obstructed by the BCC. We demand the introduction of a special investigation. The inspections should be carried out with great intensity and scope.

— I believe that the level of corruption in their ranks has reached a dangerous level. We need to act covertly.

— I suggest using an unspoken resource.

— Seconded. — Me, too.

— Seconded.

— Utilizing an unspoken resource is a good time.

— So, I'll give the High Priest a suggestion for the use of an unspoken resource. — summarized Uginoch. — And I recommend you, Metropolitan Priest Shiroh, to personally go to the troubled territories and follow the process of the Inquisition. No local official will be able to refuse you a visit.